“Here ya go,” the friendly, heavy-set food truck worker said, handing Maren her lunch. “Hope you enjoy!”

“Thanks,” Maren said, taking the stew. “Will do!”

Neirean Stew, an easy but delicious favorite of hers. Packed with meat, potatoes, onions, and carrots, this hearty stew had always supplied her with a warm heart and a full belly. Her stomach howled, voicing its vexation. Maren delighted in calming the irate organ, her mouth cheering as the savory stew began to ease her hunger.

“Must’ve had one hell of a run,” the food truck proprietor said.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Maren said.

Linick’s northern skyline came into view not long after she left the dumpsite zone. Maren had wanted to get to the city as quickly as possible, but she’d known she would need to conserve her energy as much as possible for whenever she would inevitably run into more abominations. So she compromised, sometimes jogging, sometimes walking. Regardless, it had taken over four hours to reach the city and she was exhausted. She couldn’t remember the last time she worked her legs and lungs so hard!

She’d even used up all of her…

“I’m sorry,” Maren said. “But… my water?”

“Oh, right, sorry,” the man said, ducking behind the counter then giving her four full large bottles of water. “My apologies.”

Maren placed the stew down, then filled her enlarged canteen. There was a little left over, which she took slow, even sips to finish off. She took her stew, then leaned back and looked out at the small city park.

“Could I ask you a couple things?” Maren asked.

“Go ahead,” the friendly man said.

“Where is everyone?”

On any other day, Maren would have taken her lunch, then sat down at a nearby bench or open spot in the grass to enjoy it. She surely would not have stood in the front of the line, chatting with the food truck worker and delaying the rest of the line.

There was, however, no one else in line at the moment.

It was like this in every other part of the city she’d seen. Much of the city had been what she expected once she left the initial residential sector she’d entered. Linick’s streets were full of various shops and restaurants. The green spaces had been spectacular, too; even in a place like this, so far from Linick’s famous Glen Park, there were plenty of trees where families could sit under to enjoy the shade, as well as ponds and picturesque bridges which led from one knoll to another. On a neighboring street corner, a mall advertised items like clothing, jewelry, electronics, art, and various sorts of knickknacks. Not to mention the bars. Dozens upon dozens lined the streets, built with colorful reds and yellows to invite someone in for a good time.

Still, Maren could count on two hands the number of people she’d seen about. Three of them were in the park, two parents and a teenage boy. One of them was the food truck proprietor, who had the only truck open at this park.

“You don’t know what’s going on?” the man said.

“I know about the festival,” Maren said. “I’m sure a lot of people are in Glen Park right now for the feast. But not everyone celebrates the same way. Only the Ardents should have the day off and I always thought Linick was split pretty evenly between the five sects.”

“That tracks, from the people I know at least.”

“So where are the Quenchers? The Autonomous? The Listeners? No one else is around and very few shops are open. What’s going on here?”

“I take it you’re not from around here.”

Maren shook her head. “I’m from Westalk, but I’m on a long trip. I’ve been staying away from the internet, mostly, unless a job requires that I get on it.”

The man sighed, his beady eyes drooping. “Well, it appears you came in at a poor time, tourist.”

The man explained to her about the kidnappings. Maren’s mouth almost dropped. Over twenty kidnappings in a week? Why hadn’t that blond man told her about that?

Maren finally checked the news. Sure enough, article after article detailing the number of missing persons and the general region they’d all taken place in.

“Most of them happened near the city center,” Maren said. “A couple miles from here.”

“Yeah, but you never know when the trend’ll break,” the man said.

Maren’s mouth firmed. She downed the rest of her stew, took a swig of water, then readjusted her blanket to keep her warm from the winter wind drifting through the lonely streets.

“Thank you for the meal,” Maren said.

“You’re welcome, lass,” the man said. “Now you be careful out there.”

Like that would happen. More than twenty people missing and now strange abominations were terrorizing Linick’s dumpsite. If those two didn’t correlate, Maren would spend the rest of winter without her blanket over her.

“I’ll do my best!” Maren called, then ran down the street, toward the Spire.